Just as Long as it Hurts
by Gorramit Girl
Summary: After the cure works in the cruelest way possible, Elena is left lost, alone, and hurting in the face of the destruction. The only person who can empathize is Elijah. It isn't pretty and it isn't love.


**Warnings**:major character death, angst, suicidal thoughts

**Just as Long as it Hurts**

* * *

It wasn't pretty. It wasn't love. It wasn't salvation. (Saviors no longer existed.)

()()()

The cure was a cruel trick, a false promise made to all of them - no one had known how exactly it would work.

"We can be together and live our lives," she promised him. "What's the point in me being human again if I don't have you there with me?"

In the end both of them (for there could never be one brother without the other, and she wished she could have realized that sooner) relented and the cure, once consumed by the three, coursed through them like fire, burning away every precious bit of immortality they'd been cursed with.

Elena was fine, could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest. She treasured the painful gasps that wracked her body. She was alive.

And at her side were two rotted corpses, still as natural death. Damon and Stefan Salvatore, aged 172 and 165 years.

"Well," came Rebekah's voice as Elena sank to the ground between her loves, misery etched in every movement her body made. (_I kill everyone I love._) "I suppose the idea of a cure was overrated, anyways."

Elena felt little satisfaction in knowing that Rebekah would eventually find a pile of dust where Klaus should have been, courtesy of Elena's slight-of-hand over his drink.

()()()

Caroline refused the cure and she and Tyler departed for lands unknown. She didn't want to be human if it meant she'd outlive Tyler; Elena had never felt that way before - it had always been a foreign concept to her. At least Caroline and Tyler would finally have a long-deserved shot at happiness.

Bonnie didn't even try to look upset over the Salvatores' deaths. After giving Abby the cure, she pulled away from Elena and Elena... let her go. Bonnie had suffered too much, sacrificed too much on her behalf. Elena understood - Bonnie was much better off without her:

Jeremy's marks faded away, the gift of the cure's release. Her brother was consumed with guilt over his behavior towards her while inflicted with the marks. He was distraught over losing something that made him feel he had a purpose. He left for Denver. He sometimes texted.

Kol departed, eyes rife with anger and tears over Klaus's death. He didn't say a word, which made those left who knew him nervous. He killed several people and burned down town hall on his way out of Mystic Falls.

Rebekah remained in town, continuing to plague Elena's existence, punishing her for her final actions against Klaus.

Matt finally grew tired of everything supernatural. He applied to colleges, actually won a few scholarships, and left.

April wouldn't even speak to her. Elena was okay with that; April deserved to be away from all the tragedy Elena seemed to attract.

Elena was left all alone. She figured it was her due, to be bereft of everything and everyone she loved, free at last to enjoy her (lonely, miserable) human life. (She had been ready to die. She didn't want to be saved.)

()()()

When Elijah appeared in her bedroom one night, months after she'd lost everything, she wasn't surprised. She invited him to sit and though she wanted to gratefully surrender to his commanding air, she stood her ground. (He always made her want to stand her ground.)

"Klaus is dead," he said lightly.

She nodded, hearing the pain he didn't give a voice to. "Yes.

"You killed him."

"I did." (She'd done what he couldn't, fulfilled the purpose that had first drawn them together.) She could see the emotions simmering beneath his cool façade. "If you're here to kill me, just get it over with," she said. "Otherwise I have things to do and misery to drown in."

"You lost your lovers," he stated.

Elena shrugged in an uncaring way she'd practiced. "Sometimes I feel like they were never mine to begin with." She'd never recover from the pain of losing them. How could she survive having two parts of her soul ripped from her?

"I'm not going to kill you," Elijah said finally.

"Why not? I killed Klaus and just a few months ago, I helped kill Finn." He would be doing Elena a favor, really. (Even if his one brother had sought death and the other had deserved it.)

"You still look for the fastest path to death, I see."

Elena narrowed her eyes; how dare he? "I was trying to keep everyone I loved safe; you used to understand that," she countered.

"But now everyone you loved is either dead or has left you; who are you trying to protect with your death this time?"

Despite the sting of his words, Elena looked him in the eye, commanding his gaze. "Myself."

"Elena."

If she couldn't have death...

Looking back, Elena would always remember how she made the first move. How it was her control that faltered first. How it was her who offered herself up for judgment (she _wanted_ to suffer for the destruction she'd wrought, _needed_ it like oxygen) and (dare she hope?) absolution at the alter of his body. (Even if they both knew he had no right to judge her, noble as he was and she had no right to ask for judgment, as guilty as she felt.) She would remember how it was her choice.

What surprised her was how quickly his control had snapped, how swiftly he'd given in.

(She'd later realize that the signs had always been there.)

()()()

"Elijah?" He pulled back from her kiss and she reached out for him. Her fingers moved softly against his face, traced over the rising veins below his eyes. She could hardly believe they had appeared - he'd always been in control. (She missed feeling hers, feeling the rush they brought.)

Very slowly, deliberately, he calmed himself. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them, the very image of a gentleman. She wondered if he could hear the furious pounding of her heart, if he took in the melodious song of her blood rushing through her femoral artery, could smell her growing arousal so sharply- (things she once knew, however briefly)

"Elijah."

And there it was. The control he always had, that had gained her respect and trust, that had sometimes been a source of comfort... His fiercely guarded control was apparently no match for her moan (no, _plea_, she'd later realize) of his name, and finally snapped.

()()()

Elijah had her on her back, on her bed before she could utter a word of protest. (She didn't want to protest.) His hands removed the lace that covered her so easily she barely felt it save for the spike of desire it shot through her. Her heart beat faster, pounding out a drumbeat she knew would be music to his ears. (It used to be music to her ears, before she would sink her teeth in.)

Elena's hips moved up against him and she bit back a satisfied grin as she felt the hardness he couldn't hide. He slid his hands up her sides and underneath her tank top, and she delighted at how her skin felt against his fingertips. No matter how hopeless she felt, she could have spent _days_ just letting him touch her. But she didn't have days. Her hands moved to unbutton his jacket and he impatiently shoved them back to the mattress - she wasn't supposed to be in control, she remembered; he was. _She'd_ sought _his_ power.

Her shirt was ripped down the middle and pulled off and he kissed down her stomach as he removed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. Elena was still making little thrusting movements at him and he firmly pushed his own hips down. "Stop moving," he managed to say darkly. He didn't look as though he could handle distractions at the moment - like her, he probably _needed_ to memorize every detail, savor the experience, because it could possibly be the only comfort they would have for the rest of their damned existence.

Elena was barely aware of her lips forming a pout and her eyes widening as his hands brushed over a particularly sensitive spot on her hip. And though she originally had no intention of kissing him again (a lie if there ever was one) she did so anyway, taking his lips with her own because no woman - former-vampire or human - could resist that smirk that graced his lips. Elena felt like wildfire beneath him; when his mouth opened to hers without hesitation, she wanted nothing more than to burn and bring him along with her. He moaned into her and as she let her tongue tangle with his, she realized that neither one of them was in control.

Elijah backed away just long enough to shed the remainder of his clothing and then he was atop her again, kissing her. She was lost in the feel of his skin against her own. She'd thought about this more than once - oh, so much more than once! - and many times in her mind it had been a slow, sensual, and mutual seduction. This was not like in her mind.

She was so very lost and so very hurt, but aroused and open beneath him. She uttered not a single word, something about it all felt so cathartic. Her mind raced through the possibilities - everything he could do to her, have her _begging_ to do to him - Elena realized he could corrupt her, ruin her beyond all hope for anyone else. For a moment - one dark, twisted, and short moment - she thought about letting him.

Then as he kissed and stroked her again, she realized she wanted him to.

()()()

He thrust inside her finally (like she'd wanted for far longer than she would ever admit) and at his deep intake of breath and subsequent moan, she smiled slightly. He was perfect inside her, made for her, even. He wasn't nearly as gentle as he probably should have been (as she'd always envisioned him being) - they were both too upset and hurt and the whole thing felt too damn good. Elena could see the pleasure in his eyes when he discovered how flexible she was. There was something almost soothing about the strength of his shoulder, supporting her draped leg as he moved within her.

She could tell marks were already forming on her neck and breasts and she saw little bits of blood specked here and there - even though his teeth were blunt when he bit her. She would have reminders when he left her - the tangible to complement the invisible claims she wanted him lay on her psyche. She would remember him one way or another, remember the special connection between them that she was taking advantage of so terribly.

Hours passed and he let her rest in intervals before he would move inside her again, indulging them both in ways they'd not allowed themselves inages. Every move he made was like a spark that just set her off again... He was every bit as invested in their joining as she was, had probably wanted her just as desperately. Even though she could feel her body tiring, should have been begging him "stop, please, I can't take anymore," all she could beg was "more, please, harder, more." Orgasms flowed one into another, and finally they could go no more. He collapsed against her and pulled away slightly - realizing she needed space as much as he.

The breathlessness subsided and the hurt dulled, replaced by a dawning horror in her mind. He looked at her, seeing the bruises, hearing her heartbeat - completely exhausted and utterly satisfied. He looked at her with indecipherable eyes as he collected his clothing and dressed. There should have been hatred for her in his eyes - loathing, really. And then she finally made out only sadness and self-regret in them as she stood up.

Shame welled inside her, threatening to burst forth in a litany of promises to never hurt him again and I'm sorry I'm so sorry, Elijah please don't hate me. She'd treated him deplorably, used him harshly as a way to slake her hurt and loneliness. No matter that she'd brought him pleasure (so much pleasure, over and over again), he deserved a far more worthy bed partner than her. She deserved far less than him.

He was fully dressed and she was standing naked in front of her mirror, studying the damage, the pain she'd demanded he inflict. She should have felt weak at the symbolism of it all - he dressed and she bared to his gaze, yet somehow she'd never felt so powerful, so in control. It was foreign to her yet intoxicating.

"Elena, I..." She'd never seen Elijah at a loss for words.

She caught his gaze in the mirror and held it. "It's not like I deserved much better. Don't worry; I was already broken."

"Why?" he asked, looking at her and seeing the queen who had forcibly knocked herself off the pedestal she'd been placed upon by all who loved her.

"You promised me, Elijah. Remember?" She'd known what he'd meant, had kept those words in the back of her mind.

"Of course," he said, thinking back to that night when he'd not had the courage to say it in her presence.

"What about now?" It would be a miracle if he ever had anything to do with her ever again.

Elijah looked at her, and she could see the resolve in him. He'd promised her and he would hold to that. "I give you my word, Elena, I am yours, and in whatever way you want me."

Elena nodded. "Me too," she promised. After all, he was all she really had, in this new life.

()()()

He left ("I will return, you have my word.") and she took a shower. She stood under the hot water, finally allowing herself some relief for her sore body, a small smile formed on her swollen lips.

It wasn't pretty. It wasn't love. But in all of the loss, in all of the pain, all of the betrayal, they had each other - two broken and lost souls, always and forever.

()()()

**A/N**: So I went kind of dark with this one. This is sprung from my revulsion of the current storyline on TVD and a cannibalization of a dark Elena/Elijah fic I wrote once but never published. Somehow the two melded together into something I found tolerable.


End file.
